


Timeless

by methodinmadness



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone, 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, before the events of 1776 OR Hamilton, ch 1 is canon era, ch 2 and 3 are AUs, historically-compliant deaths, reincarnation (though the characters don't know it), the pairing literally no one was asking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-15 22:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methodinmadness/pseuds/methodinmadness
Summary: Everybody knows that true love transcends time, and that even if it ends unhappily in one lifetime, surely it will all work out in another.In no time, no place, no universe are John Laurens and Edward Rutledge each other’s true loves.  They just sort of happen to each other. Again and again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> John Laurens's clashes with John Rutledge during the war are well-documented...but what about the other Rutledge brother?  
> They were almost ideologically identical, but Edward had a reputation for being much easier to get along with.  
> So what do you do when the nice guy you grew up with turns out to be on the wrong side of everything you care about? 
> 
> Disclaimers: There is a five-year age gap between these two, and to fit the 18th century timeline, that makes John underage in Chapter One, so I’ve added a warning for that just in case. Also, fair warning: this is much more a series of character studies than a plot-driven story.  
> After almost a decade lurking in 1776 and Hamilton fandoms, this is somehow my first published slash fic....  
> Here goes!

The first time, they’ve known each other since John can remember.  Edward is kind to John, and John instinctively likes him better than the rest of that family, certainly better than Edward’s stern older brother, who works with John’s father. 

John’s father is pleased—or at least, as pleased as Henry Laurens ever allows himself to be with his eldest son—that he gets along well with Edward; at some point, it becomes clear that Henry would be quite interested in John marrying into the family, who seem to be on the rise. 

When Edward leaves for London, John is surprised by exactly how much he misses the older boy, and how much he feels compelled to hide this feeling from his father.

When John himself goes to London, Henry tells him to make sure to see Edward. 

Henry makes no secret about the fact that he would like John to follow in Edward’s footsteps and study law. 

John is significantly less excited about law than he is about seeing Edward again. 

Then there’s London.  And there’s a great deal of spirits involved, and John continues to feel ambivalent about law, but he is certain of how he feels about Edward.  And he is old enough now to know that he absolutely should not feel this way about another man, so he strives to control himself.  It’s a losing battle, and he finds himself speaking at length about how much he admires Edward. And just as he manages to will himself to stop talking, it begins to sink in exactly how unacceptable this whole thing is, and John’s first thought is to just run out of the room and rely on Edward’s kind heart to assure that he never shares this with anyone.  Just as he begins to mutter his excuses, Edward places a hand on his knee. John looks up at Edward, who looks more grave and intense than John ever remembers seeing him before. “Truthfully, Jack,” he says softly, calling him by the same nickname as his family does.  “I’ve always been quite fond of you as well.” On a wild impulse, John leans forward and kisses Edward, and to his shock, finds the kiss returned.  At seventeen, John is already the taller of the two men, when the kissing continues at length, somehow Edward ends up half in John’s lap, half across his chair, and at some point (the wine makes the concept of time a bit foggy), they break apart.  Edward asks John to stay, and they both fall asleep moments after laying down, still clothed and in a tangled sort of embrace. 

They never speak of that night again.  Edward writes John a letter of introduction for the army, and seems encouraging of John’s prospects as a soldier and not disappointed at his failure to complete his studies in law. 

And then, of course, there’s Alexander. 

There’s Alexander, and there will always be Alexander, and it’s hard for John to imagine a time when Alexander was not in his life.   

The last time he and Edward see one another is before the siege, when John is furious at Edward’s older brother (now the governor), and Edward is attempting to be conciliatory.  John brushes him off and storms away, thinking that he’s such a fucking _coward_ and through his anger, he thinks he sees a flicker of hurt in the older man’s eyes. 

Beneath it all, he’s a bit hurt too.  Because he can’t stop thinking, _You’re better than this.  You could be—you should be—better than this._

But he puts it out of his head, ranking it as less important than preparing for battle. 

He never thinks of Edward again before his death. 

But Edward thinks of him.  Not just when Charleston mourns its fallen son. 

When John’s brother marries Edward’s niece, the intermarriage Henry Laurens finally—but just barely—lived to see.

And Mary—there’s always Mary, and there will always be Mary, and he can’t remember a time before Mary was a part of his life—when Mary mentions John one day, about how he was kind to her late first husband.

When Edward’s own son asks him how the war was won, he remembers John in uniform.  How proud he was to fight, to die, for his cause. 

And he misses him.  More than he will ever admit.

 


	2. The Second Time--1967

The second time, they’re still in the South, but it’s later. 

A fraternity house at a big state university. 

Edward is still the boy-next-door, the one who let John play baseball with the older boys in the park down the road. 

John remembers those golden afternoons and the butterflies in his stomach when Edward had met him at the diamond and helped him work on his swing. He’d tried to forget about it, sublimating it into the glowing praise his father heaped on Edward. “An upright, intelligent young man. A marvelous role model,” Henry described him. “You’ll have to write him, see if he has any advice about things at school.” 

John nodded absently, knowing he would absolutely not be writing Edward for his college advice, knowing he would make every effort to forget that Edward had ever existed, because he’s old enough now to know what those butterflies are and to know that if he doesn’t quash them now, things will get exponentially worse for him. 

John is a freshman and Edward is in law school, visiting his alma mater for a fraternity event. 

They meet for supper at a little diner in town, and the butterflies are more like cannonballs. 

Edward is funny and thoughtful, asking John about his classwork and full of jibes about the dorm buildings and the dining hall food. He’s got a dozen stories about law school and his friends in Atlanta.   
When he invites John to the party that night, it occurs to John that he should say no. He’s never cared much for fraternity parties, to start with, and he’ll barely know anyone there. Plus, he suspects he shouldn’t put himself into any situation that involves both Edward and copious amounts of alcohol. But what he says instead is, “Would that be alright, since I’m not a brother?” 

“Of course,” Edward says with a grin. “You’ll be with me.” 

And before he knows it, he’s had an inadvisable number of beers and normally, he would be terrified of being left alone in a room almost entirely full of strangers. But Edward has barely left his side all night, introducing him to so many men who look almost identical to one another: the country-club-athletic silhouette and preppy masculinity shared by all of them is a more useful identifier than names or facial features could possibly be. 

The party continues at the hotel where most of the alumni are staying. 

When Edward invites him up to his room, he says it’s to show him a book he’s been reading, and John goes because the book sounds interesting and because it’s Edward who’s asked him.   
In the elevator on the way up, their hands brush, and John begins to suspect that this is not really about a book. 

He suspects correctly. 

This time it’s Edward who initiates it. When John leans in to look at the title page, Edward simply turns and kisses him. Somewhere in the background, John hears the book fall to the floor with a dull thump. The butterflies-turned-cannonballs have evolved into pure magnetic force that draws him to pull Edward flush against him as he kisses back. Edward carefully nudges John backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and John takes his cue and sits down, eventually laying back and pulling Edward down to straddle his waist. They’ve just managed to get the shirts and ties off of one another when there was a knock at the door. John freezes, and a wild look of fear flashes across Edward’s face. “Put your shirt on,” he hisses, grabbing the book from the ground and almost throwing it into John’s lap. He himself pulls on his shirt and buttons it rapidly as he walks towards the door. 

It turns out to be a fraternity brother (Chuck? Marty? They all looked the same to John) asking to bum a cigarette. 

Edward simply pulls a pack out of his pants pocket and handed one to this nameless man, who lights it with his own lighter and wanders off to rejoin the festivities. Edward shuts the door and turns back to Jack, looking like he’s aged about ten years in the last thirty seconds. 

“I…I think I should be getting back to my room,” John finds himself saying, pulling his tie off the floor and stuffing it in his pocket. “My roommate will be worried.” 

John is disappointed to see the look of relief cross Edward’s face. “Right. Yes. I should be getting to bed as well. Breakfast tomorrow?” 

The next morning, before Edward leaves campus, they get breakfast at the same diner. Whether it’s the events of the night before or the coffee, John feels chatty. 

It is an era of student protests, and John is overflowing with enthusiasm about the rallies he’s been to and the one’s he’s taking part in planning. How he was just a bit too young for the lunch counter sit-ins and the Freedom Riders, but damned if he won’t find his way to New York in a couple of weeks for the big demonstration against Vietnam in Central Park. Word had it that Dr. King himself would be there and bonfires would be lit with hundreds of draft cards. He even starts to talk about the student group at Columbia supporting people—well, people like him, like them¸ when he trails off. “Sorry, I’m rambling…”

Edward gives him a strange look, one eyebrow raised and a half-smile that he twists back and forth across his face as if he’s trying to hold back a rather unkind laugh. He clears his throat to speak, and his tone strikes John as deeply patronizing. 

“Well, you certainly are an idealist,” he says. “But Jack”—and John grimaces at the use of his father’s nickname for him—“you really can’t believe all of that will do much more than cause an embarrassing scene.” 

“But…it’s important. The work, I mean.” 

“Well, if you’d like my honest opinion, I think the idea of burning draft cards is shameful.”

“Regardless of the methods of protest…the point is that people are being conscripted into the cause of a war that is fundamentally—“ 

“The cause is the cause of a nation, Jack. Of freedom and democracy for the world.” 

John is stunned—and worst of all, completely blindsided. 

“And in terms of those people at Columbia,” Edward continues, “Or come to that, the student groups you’re talking about here, I think you’d be better off staying away from all of them. Nothing but trouble in every way.” 

“But you… how could you be…and not….I mean, last night…” 

Edward shoots a glance over his shoulder, though they’re nearly the only people in the place. 

“Yes, that’s why I wanted to make sure I saw you before I leave. I really do apologize for all that. I’ve always been quite fond of you, and I’d hate to see our friendship impacted by the momentary…lapse in judgment on my part.” 

“Lapse in judgment.” 

Edward seems suddenly engrossed in the cuff of his right shirtsleeve. 

On some level, it finally sinks in. “I see,” John says quietly. “Well.” He knows what he needs to say. “No need to worry about that,” he says, doing his best to plaster a friendly smile on his face, though he suspects it comes out more like a grimace. “All water under the bridge.” 

The look of relief is back, and this time it breaks John’s heart a little. “Glad to hear it,” Edward tells him. 

The rest of the breakfast is purely stilted small talk, and it concludes with an awkward handshake. 

“Keep in touch,” Edward says with a smile that’s just a little too tense. 

“Absolutely,” John says, knowing that they will likely never see one another again. 

He is right. 

John moves to New York after graduation, taking a job as a teacher and going to activist meetings in his free time, at one of which he is introduced by a friend of a friend to a newcomer to the city whose name is Alexander.

Then there is Alexander, and there will always be Alexander, and there could never have been anyone for him other than Alexander.

Edward’s life, meanwhile, continues on exactly as planned. A law practice, a wife (two wives, one of which he survives and the other of which survives him) whom he loves—really loves, and it is this love that makes him push away the feelings he once had for men to a dark, remote corner of his mind. He has never learned that it is possible to love both men and women and he refuses to learn any such thing. He thinks about John, though. He thinks about him when he’s forced to have a business lunch with John’s father, who complains bitterly about his “hippie bohemian son” in New York. He thinks about him sometimes when he can’t sleep, late at night, and though he’ll never allow himself to think it, he misses him. 

Edward dies of a stroke in middle age, and two years later, his daughter Sarah brings her girlfriend home for Thanksgiving dinner. She could not imagine coming out to her father, but her stepmother Mary handles it well enough. She asks Sarah during their next phone call what Jennifer might like as a Christmas present. 

And life goes on.


	3. The Third Time--2016

Then it’s the nation’s capital, twenty-first century. 

John has just graduated from college and works in a non-profit, rents a room in a house with some friends. 

Edward’s been out of law school for two years and he’s a fancy corporate job that John is very sure that he doesn’t care to know any more about. 

But when Edward messages him on Facebook out of nowhere and invites him out to dinner and drinks (his treat), he’s not inclined to say no. 

Against his better judgment, he even tells his father that he’s meeting up with Edward, news which Henry is more excited about than anything John has done in the last several years, at least. 

Henry considers this some kind of networking event, but that couldn’t have been further from John’s mind when he accepted the invitation. 

First, it’s a free meal—and judging by the average price of an entrée listed on the restaurant’s online menu, a free meal that would otherwise be way out of John’s budget range. 

Second—and really, if he’s honest, most importantly—it’s Ned. 

Ned, who was always kind to him at those insufferable dinner parties their families threw. 

Ned, who taught at soccer camp when John was a freshman in high school. Who was helpful and encouraging—and undeniably handsome. 

Who gave John a ride home one afternoon and asked him about school, about what he wanted to do when he grew up, who took him seriously and treated him with respect, not like he was some little kid.   
John had made it a point not to go home more than he had to during his college breaks, so he had relatively few dinner parties to endure. He kept in touch with Edward via social media. He had almost successfully convinced himself that he simply added Edward to keep up with a family friend. But the occasional late-night Facebook stalking to search for any hints of girlfriends—or more relevantly, boyfriends—in photos or comments betrayed his real motivation. 

And now Edward wants to get dinner. To catch up. 

John is vague with his housemates, borderline evasive, when they ask his plans for the evening. “Meeting up with an old friend,” he says. Krissie, with whom he shares the second floor bathroom, doesn’t quite buy it. “You iron your shirt and gel your hair to see an old friend?” 

“Like I’ve never used either of those things before in your presence?” John says. He is trying for “jokingly offended” but instead only manages to come off as mildly frantic.   
Krissie holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Whatever,” she says. “We’ll keep a light on for you. Unless you won’t be home until tomorrow morning.” She shoots him a wink as she steps back across the threshold into her room. 

John could feel himself blushing. Whatever the reason for Edward asking him to dinner, it wasn’t that. Well, it probably wasn’t that. 

They meet up outside the restaurant. As John comes up the escalator from the Metro, he spots Edward at the corner, scrolling on his phone. He takes a couple of deep breaths, fumbling to get his Metro card back in his wallet. But all of his preparation comes to nothing when Edward catches his eye. “John!” he says with a wave and a grin. “Hey,” John says, and they shake hands. 

They walk a couple of blocks to the restaurant while exchanging generic small talk. “How do you like DC?” “How’s your family?” “Have you been home recently?” The respective correct answers, on John’s part, are “Fine,” “Dysfunctional as ever” and “No” but he does his best to be pleasant, which requires a few white lies. So the answers he gives are more like “It’s been great!” “They’re all fine” and “No, I haven’t had the chance. Too much going on at work. How are you?” 

They are seated at their table and order. The online menu had been exactly right on the prices. But the specialty cocktails are excellent. 

One drink with dinner turns into a few more drinks. 

The worst part is that, on some level, John knows. He sees Edward’s eyes go blank when he talks about the work he does at the nonprofit. He sees his lips purse when he makes a remark about the principles (or lack thereof) of certain mainstream politicians. He notices the way he averts his eyes when John talks about getting involved in grassroots activist work—really the only thing that has made the move to DC worthwhile for him so far. 

He knows what sort of company Edward works for. He knows where his priorities are—and are not. He knows this man, and he knows they are on the opposite sides of issues that mean a great deal to John. It breaks his heart a little, thinking the man who has been so kind to him is really so callous about other people. But he knows. 

And when Edward invites him back to his place, he says yes anyway. 

He could say he’s just drunk (which he is), but he knows what he’s doing. 

Because as much as John cares about his principles and his work, he is very lonely. 

And Edward is very kind to him, as he always had been. 

In between the awkward moments, dinner is fun. They like the same TV shows and movies, they’d read the same books. They knew the same people from back home, had gone to the same high school, been to the same places. Edward is familiar. 

“You know,” John says, fidgeting a little as he took his seat on Edward’s couch. “I used to have a huge crush on you.” 

Edward laughs. “You’re just saying that to flatter me.” 

“It’s true! At soccer camp, though probably also before then. You were just so funny, and talented, and smart….and good-looking.” 

Edward sits down next to him on the couch. “You’re pretty handsome yourself, Jack.” John usually doesn’t care for that nickname, but in Edward’s mouth he likes it a great deal more. 

He cups John’s face in his hand. “I always felt like you and I had a lot in common. You know?” 

John does know. He also knows that that’s not enough, but he ignores this knowledge and just kisses Edward anyway. It is every bit as good as he thought it would be. Before he knows it, he’s in Edward’s lap and has figured out a way to run his fingernails over Edward’s back with just enough pressure to make him shiver. 

“Want to move this to the bedroom?” Edward murmurs into John’s neck. 

John hesitates, fixing his eyes over Edward’s shoulder. His dignity kicking in far too late, he takes a steadying breath and disentangling himself from Edward. He mutters something about morning plans as he smooths out wrinkles on his shirt. The last minute or so that he’s in the apartment passes in some kind of social anxiety-induced fugue state. He thanks Edward for dinner and they both agree it was “good to catch up.” He’s sure other vague pleasantries are exchanged about keeping in touch, but the next thing he can clearly and calmly recall is opening the door to Edward’s building and feeling the cool breeze as he steps out onto the sidewalk. 

Perhaps getting the hint, Edward returns to being a social media acquaintance. 

John feels slimy about that night (and he refuses to tell Krissie a damn thing about it, no matter how many times she waggles her eyebrows at him); he throws himself into his work. 

A year later, he is applying to a new job he is really excited about, and without telling him, his father goes behind his back to ask Edward for a recommendation. John only realizes this when he receives a blandly polite email from Edward attaching the document. After taking a minute to vent about his dad’s bullshit to Krissie, John writes an equally bland email of gratitude. Despite his discomfort regarding its origins, the letter is good, identifying the actual skills and values the non-profit wants to see from applicants. 

John finds it ironic that Edward demonstrates such a good awareness of these values but doesn’t have the courage to adopt any of them for himself. 

But regardless, John gets the job. 

And on his first day there, he is given a tour of the building by a young man named Alexander. Alexander has a remarkably large coffee mug glued to his right hand and speaks about a mile a minute, but somehow never loses his train of thought. After a few months of working together, Alexander asks him out for drinks and kisses him on the Metro platform. 

So then there is Alexander and there will always be Alexander and John doesn’t think too much about a time before Alexander was in his life. 

Edward stays in DC and gets an apartment with a view of the Washington monument from the balcony and gets a girlfriend with an accounting degree who is different than John in almost every conceivable way. Once, while plastered after a friend’s bachelor party, he admits to the girlfriend that he is “probably, not necessarily entirely, but mostly, straight.” He overhears her on the phone to her sister the next day asking, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” but they never discuss it again. He loves her; he really does love her, and he gives himself permission to think about John just as a guy he’s known from childhood, an old friend with whom he no longer has much in common. If he ever entertains other thoughts, he’s shut them away in the same compartment of his mind that second-guessed a lot of his decisions. A part of his mind that will come to the forefront eventually, but not any time soon. 

They drift apart. 

Until the next time they drift back together.


End file.
